34th Hunger Games
by Madam Pepper Potts
Summary: Follow the tributes of the 34th Hunger Games as they navigate the dangers of this year's arena. Alliances will be made, relationships will be tested, so stay tuned! Disclaimer: Rights go to Suzanne Collins for creating the world of the Hunger Games.
1. Reapings Part 1

**Glen Deer (Female Tribute)**

The wind blows softly, caressing my cheeks and letting fly the long blonde hair of the girl in front of me. The sky is an intense blue with no clouds: a perfect day.

It will be even more perfect if I am the one chosen to compete in the Hunger Games.

I've always been the weakest, smallest one in my family. My father, at eighteen years of age, was the victor of the his Games. This has set a standard for my brothers and me to follow. Kai and Stiles are the strongest and most toughest boys in our school. They win all the games and all the races, but me? I do the best I can but I'm not victor material in my family's eyes. But this year I am twelve years old and of age to compete in the games; and I will show my family what I am capable of. Because I have to prove myself. They treat me as if I am below them as it is. But they will not when I return home the prevalent of the 34th Hunger Games.

District One's Capitol escort, Lydia Rylan, stands on the platform in front of the Justice Building in a glittery, bright-pink suit and tall heels. Once the Treaty of Treason is read Lydia stalks over to the clear glass balls and plucks out the name of the female tribute.

"Lynnly Green," she reads in her signature high-pitched voice.

There's a rustle in the crowd before I throw my hand up as fast as I can and scream, "I volunteer!"

I look back to see the girl whose name was called. She's a petite blue-eyed girl with delicate features; she gives me a grateful look, but I shake my head. I didn't do it for her, and I don't know why anyone wouldn't want a shot at endless fame and fortune.

I make my way to the platform and stand before my district. Lydia calls out the name of the male tribute, who turns out to be a strong-looking boy I've never seen before named Lyon Teeters.

He gives me a level stare as we shake hands, and the message is clear. One of us is going to come home alive, and it sure as heck isn't going to be you.

 **Jet Keegan (District Two, Male Tribute)**

"Jet, I know you can do this." My mother takes my face in her smooth, soft hands and smiles at me. "You're going to volunteer, you're going to make a splash in the Capitol, and you will win these Games. I have faith in you."

There is no choice. I am going to volunteer at the reaping today and become District Two's next male victor. She makes it sound so simple but we've all watched the Games and know it's anything but. Nevertheless, it's something I can do. And I must. To raise my family's name and to live in Capitol-worthy luxury all the days of my life.

. . .

As the escort and mayor and victors of District Two take the stage, I prepare myself for what I'm about to do.

When I volunteer, I must walk confidently to the platform to take my place, no hitch in my step, not a trace of fear or nervousness. Just a hungry want for the victor's crown.

The escort names the girl tribute and I gasp when I hear it is the name of my sister. No, no, no, she can't do it, and I can't kill her. But no one volunteers and so she flounces to the stage and stares out at the crowd with unnerved eyes of determination.

The next second the male tribute's name is read aloud and hardly before the escort can take a breath I shout calmly and firmly. "I volunteer as tribute!"

All eyes are on me, every head turn. They know I will fight for our district, hard and to the bitter end. Jet Keegan, almost seven feet tall of lean, hard muscle and self-confidence.

But what they don't know is that I do it all for my family, none of it for her. My one goal in life now is protect my sister.


	2. Reapings Part 2

Kane Rainier (District 3, Male Tribute)

The crowd is stiff and silent, as is the air around us. I hear the kid takes to me inhale nervously as the escort of District 3 crosses the stage to the microphone. It's really not needed, though; we can hear her voice loud and clear without any sort of amplifying.

Today is the reaping.

I heard my mother and father crying last night. Their only boy, a cripple, going to the town square tomorrow possibly to become the next victim of the Hunger Games.

My left leg has been shorter than the right one since birth, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Now, if I lived in the Capitol this sort of thing wouldn't even be a problem. A Capitol baby could go in for surgery minutes after being born and come out with a perfectly fine leg. But not for a boy in one of Panem's lowly districts.

The escort taps the microphone and a boom echoes through the crowd. She stretches her plump red lips into a smile and clears her throat. "Happy Hunger Games! Today, as usual, we'll start off with picking the girl tribute for your lovely district here." Her nose wrinkles up contradictorally as she says that. She fishes around in the bowl for a moment then produces a folded up piece of paper. "Eden Roth."

A cry goes up from the parents' roped-off area and then a girl appears from the fifteen-year olds section and mounts the stage on light feet. She's very short, has black hair, and a pale face.

"Alright, now for the boys!" The escort excitedly reaches her hand into the other glass ball for the name of the male tribute. I clench my hands together and force my eyes to stay open. For the sake of my parents, I sincerely hope the name called is not mine. "Kane Rainier!"

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. I don't even turn around, because I can't bear to find my parents' faces in the crowd.

Everything is silent as I limp to the stage. Even the escort's smile falls when she's sees I'm favoring my left leg, because this is wrong. This whole thing is wrong.

Skai Ryder (District 4, Female Tribute)

I'm wearing a sleeveless dark blue dress that reaches just above my knees and heels that make me look a lot taller than I am. All the girls here are dressed up today because we're on camera and one girl is going to be leaving District Four in a Capitol train to be transported to the Capitol to fight in the Hunger Games.

I finger a strand of my fine black hair and glance around the crowds for my brother, Cameron. He stands amongst the twelve year olds, and when he catches me staring he smiles. _You ready?_ he mouths.

I nod. _So ready._

And as if on cue the ceremony begins and is under way, though I tune out most of it, eager for the actual reaping. I'm ready for this, but I know my brother isn't. I've trained for this for years, but each reaping my name has never been drawn. But not this year. Because this year, I cheated. Practically all the names in the girl's reaping bowl are mine. I took out much more tesserae than was needed, and now I'm going to be rewarded for it.

The escort teeters over to the clear balls in obnoxiously tall black boots and takes a small piece of paper. "Skai Ryder."

The games have begun.


	3. Reapings Part 3

Orchid Tyran (District 5, Female Tribute)

My twin sister and I stand, shoulder to shoulder, as we wait for the inevitable reaping to begin. I'm shaking.

Astra takes my hand and tries to give me a smile. I lean towards her and stammer, "It's alright, I'm okay." It's a lie, and she knows and I know it, and anyone who's ever said that on reaping day is a liar. But what else can you do? You can't break down, you don't want to make a scene, you don't want to make a fool of yourself. You have to stay strong, or at least keep the appearance of a strong, calm, collected person who very well maybe waiting for her death.

The escort storms onto the stage, whisper-shouting over her shoulder to a couple of Peacekeepers, "You better have ice for my drink next time!"

The crowd is quiet as we listen to the whiny voice of our Capitol escort, Ryanna Lewis, famous for being a gigantic brat. She is what every district person would think a typical Capitol citizen is like.

"My apologies, District Five," she says, not sounding sorry at all, and I even hear someone scoff loudly in the crowd. Ryanna Lewis just rolls her eyes.

The boring part of the reaping where the mayor reads and speech-makes are spent for Astra and me holding so tightly to the other's hand that our knuckles turn white.

When the time comes to pick the tributes, Ryanna shoots a sort of evil smile to the crowd and then dashes over to the balls and pulls out a name, not even bothering to announce whether it's the boys' or the girls'.

She rips it open and practically spits out the name. "Astra Tyran." Her beady eyes quickly shoot around, searching for the face whose name she's called.

Astra's hand goes limp in mine. I turn to her.

"No, you're not going."

She starts to walk forward, away from me. The Peacekeepers already see her and are heading our way.

I grab her hand and pull her back. "I said you're not going! I volunteer! I volunteer in place of my sister!"

That's how deep our sisterly love has always ran. Now I'm just showing it to the world.

Fabian Broderick (District 6, Male Tribute)

My mother kisses my forehead then waves to me as she and my father go stand with the other parents. I make my way, shaking the whole time, to where I'm supposed to be with the rest of the twelve year old boys.

This is my first reaping.

And I am terrified.

Because my name is in that ball of folded up pieces of doom on paper. The wind blows with a kind of intensity that seems to be signaling the start of the reaping, because the escort of District 6 takes the stage and welcomes, as if we're the ones who need to be welcome. This is our district and she the stranger.

And she is most definitely not welcome here.

Clouds start crowding the sky and I feel a storm coming on. The mayor must too, because the reaping begins quickly, she saying the designated speeches and before the clock strikes ten minutes, the escort is at the reaping bowl.

And everyone is holding their breath. Hoping it's not them. That it's not them. Not this year. Not today. Let it be someone else.

Someone else it is. Because it's not them, it's not their child, their brother, their grandson.

It's me.

"Fabian Broderick."

I am sent to my death too young.


	4. Reapings Part 4

**Gat Wings (District 7, Male Tribute)**

I wish I could be out in the woods right now.

Instead I'm stuck in the town square for the most dreaded event all year: the reaping of the tributes for this year's Hunger Games. Being in the middle of the forest, with the sky and hot sun hidden from view, cloaked in the leaves' shade, hacking away at trees: that is my life and that is what I feel most comfortable doing.

I see my two sisters clinging to each other in their matching white dresses as District Seven's escort, Myles Rudy, steps up to the microphone.

"Is everyone ready for a good show?" He says loudly.

Everything is quiet. Because you do not say that to the people you are sending to die, to watch one of their district members die; on screen, no less, for the whole Capitol to enjoy. So yes, I'm sure the _Capitol_ is ready for a good show.

Someone from the back of the crowd shouts crudely to the escort, who adjusts his glasses nervously then glances back at our mayor, _Aren't you going to do something about that?_

But Mayor Lessley has always been a good man and he hates the Hunger Games just as much as the rest of us.

Lessley shakes his head and the escort continues with the ceremony.

I feel confident that I won't get picked to enter into the Games. I put in no tesserae because my family gets along alright, both my mother and father working, not to mention me in the woods everyday doing my fair share of manual labor and getting paid for it too. I am seventeen and, obviously, not once has my name been called for the reaping. But my sisters, who are both twelve, I fear for. They were so afraid this morning, waking up crying while our mother tried to comfort them.

Lessley plucks the name of the girl tribute and reads it. "Asa Hart."

A girl with long brown hair and long legs walks up to the stage and shakes the escort's hand, her face blank, showing no emotion. Immediately I know what her tactic in the Games will be. She will show no fear, no anger, no sadness. She will be the one to hide and then jump out and kill viciously when the numbers of tributes are low and no one expects it.

While I've been speculating about this tribute, the escort has announced the name of the male tribute. I don't hear it at first, because my brain doesn't want to. But everyone's head is turned and now they are staring at me. Because my name has been called as the male tribute my district is sending to the Capitol to represent in the Hunger Games.

 **Bitter Reynolds (District 8, Female Tribute)**

All I can think as I get checked in and do my blood test is, This is the second to last time I will ever have my name be put into the reaping. The last time I will have this constant, panicky feeling I've dreaded every single year.

But the truth is, no one would really care if I was picked to compete in the Hunger Games. My mother and father died when I was very young and to avoid being put into the children's home, my best friend's family took me in. But that wasn't much better than what I imagined the children's home to be like: Lizzy's father was an abusive, alcoholic maniac, never even trying to take care of his family, and it was unusual for him to actually go to work; Lizzy's mother was small, meek woman and tried to help her kids, but she couldn't work with one eye blind.

Lizzy is a year older than me, so we stand apart, her with the other eighteen year-olds and a worried look in her eye. She was always much calmer than me; when I'm in danger I tend to shut down and sink into the fetal position, not able to do much of anything.

The whole reaping is a blur of the Capitol escort's obnoxiously pink hair and annoying accent, the mayor's stiff voice, and the silence from the crowd of District Eight, until the escort says into the piercingly loud microphone, "Now we'll see who your tributes are this year. And the female tribute is Bitter Reynolds."

My vision started to blacken and I felt myself sinking down into a crouching position.

"I volunteer as tribute!" Lizzy.

I stand up suddenly. "No, you don't! You're not volunteering for me. You have a mother!"

And I run to the stage before she can say anything else.


	5. Reapings Part 5

**Day Linden (District 9, Female Tribute)**

My eye is twitching.

Every reaping day, every year, my eye twitches during the ceremony. I guess it is a way for my body to express the stress I feel over this ordeal. Every year I wake up in a panicky state, gasping for breath, knowing that this might be my last day at home, the last time I will ever see my parents, be held my mother, scolded by my father, teased by my brother, admired by my sister, barked at by the stray dog that lives in our backyard.

But for four years that eye twitching has been in vain. My name has never been reaped to enter the Hunger Games, nor has anyone's in my family. And it would be an understatement to say I'd like to keep it that way.

But that's how everyone feels on reaping day. I know I'm not the only one who feels this way on the day of this infamous event. My father deals with it by hardly saying a word; he is usually the most talkative and friendly person in the world the other 364 days of the year. But not today. And my mother just cooks really good. I always wake up to the smells of a breakfast sure to put all other ones she's made to shame. Dahlia's too young to have her name be put into the reaping bowl, just eleven years old, but Silas is. He's thirteen, so his name will be in twice. I hope and pray it's not him. _Not him._

As soon as I realize I've been spacing out, I see that my eyes have been looking to the stage, where all the important people sit: the mayor, the three past victors of Nine, and the Capitol escort. They are all staring at the large screen rolled down for the whole crowd to see and be afraid of. I just ignore the short film the Capitol people show every year; it's just too hard to watch. How the Capitol portrays the Hunger Games as some sort of act of mercy, like they're saying, _We could kill you, but choose to make you kill yourselves instead. How kind of us. You should be grateful._ They make it so the districts are turning on each other.

As I watch the Hunger Games every year, I make a plan as to what I would do in each game. Last year the arena was a frozen wasteland, but my father is a smart man and was telling me that if you used the ice and snow right, you could fashion an igloo of sorts and sleep in there to keep you warm. I decided that's what I would do.

The film ends, and everyone knows what's coming next. What's inevitable.

The Capitol escort is a tiny lady named Sheela Costol. I've imagined some worse Capitol people. But coming from the powerful city who forces us to fight to the death, Sheela doesn't seem all that menacing. She looks like a little girl, for one. She has bright curly red hair she always wears with colorful bows and little dresses that look like something Dahlia would want to wear; all poofy and frilly with yards of pretty lace.

Sheela smiles cheerfully out to us district people below the platform and announces, "Alright, District Nine, I'd like to present to you your male and female tributes." Here she flounces over to the bowls like a little girl and comes up with the paper. "And our very special girl is-", she tears open the piece of paper, "-Day Linden!"

 _No._

But yes, it's me.

I guess I'll finally get to use all that survival knowledge my father instilled in me. It just might save my life.

 **Casper Lee (District 10, Male Tribute)**

The smell of cow's blood coats me. Just before my mother yelled at me that it was time to leave for the reaping, I was out in the barn feeding our animals when I found the bleeding cow.

Marmalade was a healthy, somewhat underfed (as we all are) light brown dairy cow with pretty eyes and long lashes. She died today. There had been reportings of coyote attacks in our village this whole month and I guess my mother and I were just not immune to those attacks. Marmalade had a large gash in her stomach, intestines covered with blood, gore, not to mention the various red slashes made all along her back. She was barely breathing when I found her.

All three of the sheep had scattered off into the open field behind our back. I guess the attack had been during the night, since Mother had been in town this morning buying our weekly bread and made me sleep in, so this was the first time today I was getting to the animals.

The Capitol escort has called me out as the face of District Ten. I am the male tribute for my district. My mother will be alone. She will cry herself to sleep, and I will not be there to comfort her. I'm boiling inside.

And as I stand on the stage, already feeling like the puppet I thought all the tributes probably felt like, I can't help finding it ironic that I already had blood on my hands. The Games have not yet even begun and I've already seen bloodshed.


	6. Reapings Part 6

**Scarlet Reed (District 11, Female Tribute)**

My eyes are a waterfall. My first reaping and I am crying like a baby. My shoulders are hunched over and shaking, my face is, I'm sure, blotchy and red, and tears streak down my cheeks.

I'm embarrassing my family. I can't count how many times my father has told me not to show weakness today. He would know what to do: he won his Games at eighteen years old. He was showered with riches and good fortune, and I was born when he married my mother, the daughter of an apothecary. I've grown up watching the kids around me starve to death and there I am, at dinner, sitting at an ornate dining table laden with all the meats, expensive vegetables, and other delicacies that hardly anyone else in District Eleven could afford. I've felt guilty every time I've gone to school and seen the hollow cheeks and protruding ribs of my classmates.

Before he sent me off to go stand in the square for the reaping with the other kids my age, my father kissed my forehead and looked me in the eye, "Don't be afraid, show no fear. Don't show weakness."

That's when I became weak. When I started crying. I've never been very confident. I know some kids at school envy me because I live in such luxury, but I guess I take it for granted because I don't feel very fortunate, with my parents always expecting me to be better than I can ever be. I know I can't live up to my father's wishes; it's the Hunger Games afterall. There's hardly a way you cannot be scared.

Now as I stand on the stage, looking at the faces of my hungry district, beside the Capitol escort and the male tribute, Ronan Littles, a boy from school, I search for my mother and my father. And there they are. Shock and disapproval taking over their faces.

I'm sorry. I couldn't do it.

 **Hadrian Gunner (District 12, Female Tribute)**

The clouds are sobbing.

Sheets of rain pour down like tears on a child's face wanting its mother. The sky is black and the rain is cold for May. I don't remember it ever raining this hard in the springtime.

I think, as I stand there in the town square with the rest of my people in the torrential downpour, I just want to get out of here. I've never liked rain, and it came on suddenly, too. It started as soon as Rilee Connel, our Capitol escort, took the stage and began the ceremony by showing the mandatory short film every district must watch today.

It feels like the sky is rebelling, saying No, this shouldn't be happening. I am doing everything in my power to stop this reaping. Do not send those poor children to their death.

Each year for the months leading up to the reaping, I've trained. I've heard rumours that the Careers have training schools that they attend until they are old enough to volunteer, like the Hunger Games are actual school yard games and not a tool the Capitol uses to keep us districts in check and under control. I train for survival.

When I was ten, the boy who lived in the house next to my family's was reaped to be in the Hunger Games. He died in the arena, was killed by a Career much too powerful for him. My sister and I decided that if we were ever reaped, we wouldn't go down without a fight. We would be ready. We were always the determined type, a trait our father passed on to us.

So everyday after school Samantha and I would go into the small patch of woods behind our house and train. We didn't know much at all. Dad has always worked down in the mines from dawn until dusk, and our mother always had to take care of the little twins, Maisy and Lulu.

So Samantha and I were on our own. Whenever we'd watch a tribute be killed, we'd analyze it and figure out why. What did he do wrong? Was he not stepping lightly enough on his feet so as not to be noticed by his killer? Was the wind blowing against him and that's why his arrow missed the target and he was tackled? Granted, of course, we were no good at any weaponry or hand-to-hand combat at first, but with practice we became better. And we even saved up enough money from gathering berries to buy real weapons, and not just the rickety, non-reliable ones we'd made from the contents of the woods. When our father found out what we were doing, he encouraged us greatly and on Sundays taught us everything he knew. His father before him was a hunter, made great money illegally roaming the forest outside the district and killing rabbits and squirrels and the occasional mountain lion, when he was lucky. We also worked on survival skills and used little tips we picked up from the few men who hunted. We fashioned obstacle courses including dangerous berries, traps, tracker jacker nests, and we'd even learned to send signals to each other through the use of Mockingjays. Of course fitness is important also, so we developed a routine where we'd do a five mile run in the morning and push-ups and sit-ups so we'd have a decent amount of strength. Sometimes it was almost fun. Samantha and I really bonded through this training, became partners in crime, and that's kind of what we were. After all, it was technically against the rules to train for the Hunger Games before the reaping, but the Capitol has to know the Career districts train and they're not getting busted for that.

By the time Samantha was twelve and I was fourteen, we were fighters. We joked that if Sam was reaped the Capitol would be so surprised to see a little twelve year old out there killing off Careers and hulky tributes, and she'd be the most revered victor ever. But we'd never gotten reaped and thanked God every day for that.

Today is the last times I will ever have to put my name in the reaping. I am eighteen, and feeling pretty confident that nothing bad will happen today, despite, of course, the rain that persists in drenching us all to the bone, as we were all unprepared for the sudden storm.

I ignore the film which I'd grown sick of listening to and watching over the years. So I just focus on trying to hike my jacket up over my head so my hair won't get wet, when the the screen where the film was being projected goes black. I hear murmurs through the crowd and then Rilee Connel speaks into the microphone.

"Looks like we're experiencing some technical difficulties due to the rain," the Capitol escort says, sounding relieved that the ceremony will be moving quicker. "So we're just going to go ahead and begin the reaping. Ladies first!" She takes a slip from the reaping bowl and I hold my breath and chant the same thing I've mumbled every reaping. Not Samantha, not me, Not Samantha, not me, not Samantha, not- "Hadrian Gunner."

That's me.


	7. Reapings Part 7

Glen Deer (District One, Female Tribute)

The room I've been escorted into bears remarkable resemblance to our living room at home. The lush carpet, smooth wood furniture, and ivory curtains flowing in the wind that slides in through the open window.

I sit down on a cushiony chair and laugh. And laugh and laugh. I made it. I'm in the Hunger Games! I feel crazy right now, what I imagine it feels like to be drunk.

One time, when I had to run to the market late in the evening I saw a man stumbling through the street. His dark hair was messy and matted, his clothes were wrinkled, and his shoes unbuckled and barely on so his heels hung out over the top of the shoes. I was hurrying because Father would be mad if I was gone too long, and smacked right into him. I wasn't watching where I was going, and neither, apparently was he. I fell backwards onto my but and plopped down right into a puddle. I cursed, trying to get back up. He swayed on his feet like he might fall too, but instead reached down and pulled me up roughly. I could smell alcohol on his sour breath, and wrinkled my nose at the odor.

"You're welcome, honey," he rasped, though I'd not given him any thanks. Then he stumbled away into the darkening night, stumbling a few times. And as he left I heard him laugh; no, cackle was more like it. He cackled so hard it turned into a hacking cough, swaying and stumbling all the way.

That's what I feel like. But instead of being drunk on alcohol, I'm drunk on excitement.

I lay there, howling on the chair, when my family bursts into the room. Shock is apparent on my two brothers' faces, but what's more is the anger on my father's.

"Glen Deer! What were you thinking?!" He's so mad, I can practically see the waves of furiousness rolling off him. If I we were at home, I would be in a lot of trouble. But not now; I'm going away to the Capitol! Whoop-dee-doo.

"Daddy, stop. Don't be mad." I try to pacify him, but his face is still red and that vein at his temple is still bulging out, blue and angry.

"And why shouldn't I be mad?! You're too young for this. You have _no idea_ what you're getting yourself into," he squawks. He sounds like a bird. I giggle. " _This isn't funny!_ "

"Glen, this was _my_ year to volunteer." Oh, so now Stiles is turning on me too? I thought he'd be happy for me. He pushes his hands through his dark hair in frustration. His eyes are red. "And you ruined it! And thanks to you, it isn't me going to be in the Hunger Games: it's that other _lion_ _boy_ or whatever!"

"Please." My eyes are starting to tear up. I've never really liked my family all that much, but they're being _so mean_. I deserve better. "Let's not talk about this. What is my token going to be?"

"Here." Kai, who's been so quiet this whole time, slides something off his wrist and drops it in my hands. It's a thin gold bracelet with the words Those who win are those who succeed. "It was the prize for some competition I won a long time ago." Kai shrugs, like it's not a big deal. But I know it is a big deal and it wasn't some competition: it was one he entered a few years ago that was between all the schools in District One. And Kai came out on top. I wrap my arms around his middle and he embraces me back. Kai always was my favorite brother.

When we pull back, Father and Stiles are staring at me.

Stiles gives me a reluctant hug, and whispers so quiet in my ear that only I can hear, "Don't die too horrible of a death. For Dad." Then he looks away and goes to stand by the door. Kai follows.

I'm confused. I'm not going to die.

Father leans in to give me a kiss, then gives me one last long look.

"You look so much like your mother it hurts."

Jet Keegan (District 2, Male Tribute)

As soon as I'm alone in the Justice Building room, I want to cry. But I never cry and I'm not going to break that record. Maybe I'll cry later tonight on the train, on our way to the Capitol. Oh, gosh. The train. The Capitol. I've never been on or to either. That's another record I don't want to break; but unfortunately, it looks like I'm going to have to.

I can't sit, I don't want to be still. So I remain standing, waiting for my mother and father. I find myself before the window which looks out at the town square where the reaping has just taken place and ended. And just like that, my life has changed. Mine and my sister's. I bury my head in my hands at the thought that this year, it won't just be some kids up on the screen fighting for their life in the Games. Our parents will have to watch as us, their children, their loved ones, fighting for our lives in the Games. And I'm struck by the unfairness of it all. Why does the Capitol get to take two kids from the same district of the same family? I don't know how me, Amber, or how our mother and father are going to deal with this.

I hear the door creak open and there are my parents. My mother runs to me and buries her face in my neck. She pulls back and there's a look of determination on her face, alongside tears streaming down her cheeks. They must have just been to see Amber.

"That was your first step. You're gonna do great. But please just remember to protect your sister. She's alright in combat, but she's not fast and knows almost nothing about the wilderness. You're her brother; be her protector." She kisses me swiftly, the flowery smell of her perfume hitting my nose, and then she leaves. Slams the door behind her.

And I don't know why.

I look to my dad. He looks at me. "That's all that she could handle. She's awful at goodbyes."

"Dad, don't worry, I can do this." I really do have confidence in myself; I've always been in the most advanced classes of training academy.

"Oh, it's not you I'm worried about, son. It's your sister. Amber doesn't stand a chance." His eyes are sad as he mutters the last part under his breath.

I draw in a sharp breath. "Don't say that."

And then we sit on a velvet couch in silence, the feel of the soft furniture beneath one of my hands and the other hand holding Dad's rough one. We sit there with the words in our mouths that we can't bear to say, and I know that this just might be the last time I ever see him. I know I'll make it far in the Games but who knows if I'll make it to the end? Who knows if I'll stand in front of crowds of Capitol people with the Victor's crown on my head?

Who can be certain I'll survive?

So we sit there, father and son, perhaps for the last time; until a Peacekeeper emerges from outside of the room and tells us our time is up so father and son shake hands. And then he leaves.

My best friend, Morlin, arrives and talks to me. He says goodbye, but he doesn't mean it. He thinks I'll win.

Do I think I'll win?


	8. Goodbyes Part 1

**Kane Rainier (District 3, Male Tribute)**

I'm scared, and I'm crying. I'm sad, and I'm crying.

I'm curious, and I'm crying. Curious, that is, about this really nice room I've been thrown into. Well, not exactly thrown, because I think the Peacekeepers were (dare I say) sympathetic to me and my useless leg. They didn't poke me with their guns because I was being too slow or even hurried me along. I wonder if they even question what they're doing. Peacekeepers have to realize that the name they've been given is purely for show. Do they actually "keep the peace"? Sometimes, I suppose. But often? Not much. Many times they're just plain rude. A Peacekeeper was buying a necklace from my mother once and cheated her by paying half as much than what she wanted for it; and Mama really didn't want to protest because really, who wants to go up against a Peacekeeper?

I take note of the smooth hardwood floors, lace curtains, clear glass windows, cushiony leather chairs, and soft clean carpets. All so different and fancy compared to our boring dusty, rough floors and scratchy furniture. I let myself enjoy a fleeting moment of fantasy:

I win these Hunger Games. I take my mother and father to live with me in the Victors' Village. I become a successful inventor. I live happily ever after. (Foolish words written at the end of every fairytale, so do note the sarcasm in my use of the phrase. Fools, no one lives happily ever after.)

The door to my beautiful prison opens and my mother and father come in. There's no other way to describe it. They don't stumble in, or tiptoe in, they just come in; almost like they want to get this over with as soon as possible.

Mama's face is streaked with tears and her eyes are red. Dad's arm is wrapped around her shoulders, holding her there, in his arms, tight and safe, so she won't fall. He looks like he's trying to keep his face hard and blank. I don't ever remember him showing any emotion other than calm, cool, and collected. He was always that person. The rock of our family. Now he's the rock of my mother.

I stand up to hug them and my mother buries her face in my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Kane, _I'm sorry_."

"Mama, it's okay." I couldn't have just said nothing; she always needs words of comfort.

My father put a hand on my shoulder. "Son, just know that your mother and I will always be with you in spirit."

He pressed a medallion into the palm of my hand. "Your token. It was your grandfather's before he passed away last year."

How I loved my grandfather, and how I wept when he cried. It's just not fair, for people die when someone on earth still loves them.

I grip the smooth object close to my heart. _Grandpa, is that you?_

 **Skai Ryder (District 4, Female Tribute)**

My best friend, Mimi, said if I ever was chosen to be in the Hunger Games, she'd be the first to come say goodbye to me. When I hear her footsteps outside the door to the Justice Building room, I count down the seconds until the door opens.

"Skai!"

I jump up and we throw our arms around each other. "I'm so glad you're here, Mimi!"

She smiles a bittersweet smile. "I'm glad because I came to remind you there's something you have to do in the arena."

"Kill the girl from Two," we quote in unison, a phrase we've screamed I-don't-know, a million times?

Each game since the one in which Mimi's cousin was killed, it's been the same. Kill the girl from Two. Kill the girl from Two. I don't think I had much of a killer's mindset until we coined this phrase, but every time I say it I feel a little bit murderous.

Each time a female tribute from District Two is murdered in the Games, we just about throw a party and praise the name of the tribute who helped avenge Reed. Reed was our best friend, the third in our group, Mimi's cousin. Reed, the little rascal. Always tricking, pranking, and pestering our older brothers. Coming up with crazy plots to overthrow the Capitol. Ha ha ha! The second rebellion has begun! All conceived from the mind of little Reed. We loved her so. We were almost like sisters, the three of us. And then killed. She was reaped two years ago and killed in the bloodbath by the girl from Two. And we've cursed her name. Lilia Scotts. I hate you, Lilia Scotts. You took my little sister, my friend from me.

Now I can be the one to kill the District Two girl. Nevermind that she wasn't actually Reed's killer, but just a girl from the district home to that cruel murderess Lilia Scotts. She comes from a district of merciless killers.

Mimi smiles at me. "Avenge Reed."

 _Kill the girl from Two._


End file.
